molted feathers
by Breathing Fire
Summary: The elders of the Axis Powers during the war. Drabble-ish minifics. Threepart.
1. prussia

_part one; prussia_

As horrible as it is, Prussia is glad for the war.

_(He is not, in actually, as bloodthirsty as many believe he is. He's seen the ravages of war, the pure waste of it, and that little amount of violence simply isn't worth it. And this is certainly a far cry from throwing arrows at Lithuania, all those years ago.)_

Revenge on France, certainly- but it's also that irritable birdcall of war, pulling at his hair and his veins because he was created for this, for this purpose, and it keeps him alive now. Prussia isn't supposed to exist, you see. (He pretended he didn't see the relief and shock in Germany's eyes when he showed up holding a beer at midnight. His house had disappeared and he's woken up on literal bedrock. He'd promptly gotten pissed drunk.) He might have lived, maybe, if he'd killed the little reincarnation of the Holy Roman Empire that he'd found on the road and called the German Confederation when he'd first found him, but he'd kept him- as a matter of idle curiosity at first and then a growing, personal and rather petty desire to show Austria that yes, he did in fact have sufficient parenting skills to take care of a kid, thank you very much.

And now, because of that, he didn't have a reason to exist properly, but he couldn't bring himself to hate the beautiful man that his brother had grown up to be, not now when he was tall and proud with his uniform and Iron Cross and most of all his alone, no matter what- so he stood silent, refusing to die. To help his brother, he whispered to the specter of death, let me hang on- and it had been true too, at that, and (me_mories of Teutonic Knights, black on white shields and yelling his awesomeness to the world and tussling with a little bossy brown-haired boy with big green eyes_). He's determined to live as long as he can, and when they win _(or not)_ and West doesn't need him anymore, maybe then he'll fade away. Or maybe he'll die like a martyr in a battle, even though that's a sad idea, not getting to say goodbye to West, but it'll still be awesome. And if he can take France down with him, and maybe the crazy drunkard Eyebrows too, all the better. He smiles, crouching in the dark, and the young soldier stationed next to him glances, shudders, and looks away.

_(west is sharp-sunlight and blue sky eyes and he's unsurprised to just know one day he's in love.)_

(and then- after- one day west comes into his room and confesses with a pinched face and drawn-together eyebrows, perhaps expecting that he'll disapprove or mock, but he just laughs, self-deprecatingly, and says that love is love and because he's old-fashioned that yes, they do have his blessing for a union, and that he'd better enjoy himself. he grins as west flails, blushes and nods, and in his mind he adds the unspoken, don't get your heart broken. he just hopes italy, bright-eyed, amber-colored italy, the one who stood over a broken france repeatedly slamming the broken end of a spear into his chest and cried endlessly- won't break him. because he deserves it, even if prussia doesn't.)

a/n. I don't even know. Hetalia isn't mine. These drabble-fic things are the result of my brain screwing me over during math class or possibly breaking down due to stress. They used to be mostly incoherent. I've cleaned most of it up, but sorry for any confusing stuff or typos or disjointed sentences. Also, these aren't really meant to be historically accurate, and again I'm sorry for the length and the disorderly sentence structure. Two more parts to go. Will be posted quickly.

word count: 557


	2. china

part two; china

At first, Yao doesn't know what to do with the child in the bamboo bushes.

He takes him back to the ship, of course, and shows the Emperor his new find. He is pleased- and clearly curious- and orders that a new room be built and assigns Yao to teach him about China. Kiku is young, but he learns quickly, and grows quickly too, his eyes dark shutters as Yao chides him for keeping the mechanical toys- they are child's things, unimportant, and he nods and promises to do better. Yao continues with his business- the Emperor needs him, after all, and there are many more travels to be had- and he leaves on a song, Kiku watching as the people bade him farewell, dark eyes dead and hands neatly folded. They sit together after Yao returns, staring up at the stars. "The rabbit is making medicine on the moon tonight." Yao says, and he waits for Kiku to chime in with his opinion, the same disagreement always, "No, they're making rice cakes-" but Kiku is silent, and as Yao turns he feels a chill creep up his spine before he sees the glint of steel- a _Katana_- in his brother's hands. Movement, and he dodges instinctively, but the blade catches him, lightly, below the neck, grazing him across his collarbone. Yao's breath catches as his palm rises to cup the wound. It's a long, shallow cut, and Yao takes a step back, ears ringing with shock as bright blood drips from it into his palm and down to splatter on the cold stone as moonlight shines onto the two of them. Kiku's- Japan's- brown eyes narrow above the sword held lightly in both hands. Yao can't breath. "Leave." Kiku says. "Leave." Unspoken; _I don't need you anymore. _"This is war." Yao says numbly, and oh why is he surprised? Japan does not answer, and his eyes glitter darkly."I regret the necessity." Kiku says, and there's another sharp glint in his eyes. Yao swallows, because this cannot be his younger brother. Not inquisitive Kiku. No regret._ little chidings, passive-aggressive responses, he should have expected this but he can't, can't believe this is happening even now-_

Nanking. Kiku has him in a bamboo room (another mockery of something that he'll never forget) and the table is set for two. Kiku is serene, immaculate, sipping tea with the barest hint of irritation on his face, like he's waiting for an unimportant decision to be made and was made to wait. "China." he greets, and Yao forgets the dance of Eastern etiquette for a while and imagines, fantasizes, what he could do to Kiku now, when there were no guards and no Westerns to bother them. He can feel blood ringing in his ears. "Japan." he greets coldly.

"How are you?" Japan asks, and it's probably not supposed to be a question, (he's reminded of England, dear Opium, welcome back, it's a double-edged sword and the Allies are about to break apart with their personal romances and bitter rivals and dysfunctional relationships, sipping tea once upon a time, _"Hey, China, riddle me this…"_ "oh, and make us some lunch." Like he was some sort of animal to play tricks for them, and Ivan was the only one who understood properly about losing people close to you, being betrayed and left for better-) but it is, and Yao wants to forget this is real and just strangle somebody to keep sane when he thinks about it. There's pure Japanese- no, just Kiku's- arrogance in his voice, and it brings up memories he doesn't want to remember _(you've forgotten your manners. Yao snarls, because that's the ultimate insult of all, how Japan was broken into and then accepted the foreign culture so easily, you are mad- "You are the one who is mad." Kiku says, and for the moment China is struck speechless.) _so he opens his mouth to say something and the world explodes around him. He comes to Alfred dragging him by the heels out of the wreckage, and trying his best to ignore all of the babbling thinks numbly that he just might _hate_ the superpower. Hates the way he tries to patronize him, when he just doesn't understand, doesn't leave him alone and chases him around trying to _explain_ when _he's a thousand years older_, and watching him with England invokes emotions he didn't even know he had (also, it's annoying to admit that America might know Japan better than he does. Even though it's true.)

a/n: you know what. screw schedules. just screw them.

also, yay for randomly switching narratives and too-confusing sentences.

word count; 759


End file.
